Bite Me
by vartamin
Summary: Ever since Katara was little her father had recounted to her stories of the monsters, the spiritual beings that had seeped through the boundary's weak points like honey, melting slowly into the material world before possessing those with unfortunate souls. It's been a dog eat dog world since they started coming through and Katara, once prey, now predator, is still afraid of them.


**AN:** cross upload from ao3 should update regularly until caught up

* * *

Katara rose from her place on the snow covered ground, ice and dead twigs tangled in her dark hair. Her limbs moved as if through swamp water, heavy and awkward in her waking moments and she tried to clear her head, pushing through the haze draped over her mind like a thick veil.

Ever since a haunting wolf spirit had latched itself to her spine when she was five, every full moon was a new torturous journey, skin tearing to reveal the Beast hiding impatiently underneath.

It had gotten to her mother first, while they were on a long walk gathering roots and the occasional berry in hide-covered wicker baskets.

It had consumed her, and her screams echoed in the clear air as she flickered between mortal and Wolf, bones cracking until the broken skin above grew a thick coat of fur. Her mother wasn't strong enough to support the Wolf's desire tumbling off its tongue like blood and she fell to the snowy ground, clawing at the ice beneath her.

"Run, Katara, run." She said to her daughter in a breathy voice, "Please, Katara, get away, run." Her words repeated in a broken mantra and Katara's legs took her away, scrambling over ledges and down hills to get back to her village.

But she wasn't fast enough, and the Wolf spirit came bounding over after her mother gave up on her last dreg of life, having held on as long as she could to give her daughter time to get away.

Katara scrunched her face in disgust at the tang of copper resting heavily on her tongue and her still heightened senses made out the sickening stench of a fresh kill. An unfortunate victim. She tried to ignore the pleased tug in her stomach that the knowledge of violence carried.

She pushed the suffocating scent from her mind and took a deep breath to still her dizzy head as a fever pounded headaches into her skull like hail crashing against the ground, sharp and unyielding.

Then came the pain, first from a long gash in her side, then her muscles, joints and bones. The unending aches had set in, almost unbearably nauseating, and she curled into a ball on the ground she had just risen from, in an effort to stave off the worst of the anguish.

Above all, the pain was the worst part of being a Beast. The roiling, burning, tearing pain of transformation always started a couple of days before and lasted until her body had mended itself back together in the nights afterwards. But nothing ever compared to the pain on the night of the full moon. When her body broke and twisted into a new form, consumed by the burning chill of anger and bloodlust.

She pushed through the aching burn of bones reset to claw her way to a standing position. She pulled herself forward like waves, stepped in time with the far away tide, her mind a mist of pain, fevered thoughts and something a little blood thirsty.

She stumbled her way through the deep snow, footsteps trailing lethargically.

In the sky above her the stars still shone, pulsing teasingly in the dark cloth of night thrown overhead. Full moons during the Polar Nights were worse than most, with the constant presence of the moon bearing down on her shoulders.

As thoughts of a star-less night blanketed over her mind, she began her trek home, searching for some kind of landmark she could use to guide her.

She wondered idly if she'd drown in the endless expanse of flurries weaving softly through the cold air. She wondered if she wanted to.

* * *

Off in the distance an iron-class steamship huffed ash and smoke into the crisp night and approached cautiously, winding its way through the iceberg laden waters with difficulty. It wasn't built to withstand the sharp edges twisting out beneath the calm ocean like hidden thorns on the stems of snow white roses.

A lone figure stood at the bow of the ship pensively, trembling hands clasped behind his back in an air of indifference, as if the endless night didn't send ominous chills to gather at the base of his spine. As if the air didn't pulse with something almost substantial, laying so thickly on the chilly breeze he felt he could almost touch it.

It was charged with an energy greater than the rebelling sparks off the sides of lightning strikes and he could practically feel the weight of his father's palm on the curve of his shoulder as he welcomed him back, welcomed him home.

Zuko would find the tear in the boundary between their world and the spirit world, he would succeed where no one else could and finally, Firelord Ozai would be proud to stand at his side and call him his son.

A rotund, aging man made his way over to Prince Zuko on quiet feet, footsteps faint against the echoing deck despite his stature. The wrinkles spreading seemly like racing roots on his face told of cheerful chuckles, whereas the heavy set of his eyes told of war and the loss of countless lives hanging like puppets off his wide shoulders. General Iroh, Dragon of the West.

"Nephew, you must come inside. The spirits here are stronger in the night." General Iroh's tone was laced with worry and he placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder, hoping to usher him into the comfort of a warm room. "There's no good to standing outside in this nightmare land, if the cold doesn't get you the wraiths or mer will. You know how they prey on those who have lost their way. This place is practically a breeding ground for the creatures." His voice was a quiet husk, but it carried in the humming silence of the Great South.

Prince Zuko shrugged off his uncle's warm hand, repressing a shiver at the cold that seeped in in its stead, his ponytail shook slightly with the movement. "I haven't lost my way, I know my destiny and you'd be better not to question it, old man." He said, sharp, raspy voice cutting through the soft wind. "I can't go inside now, we're so close to the spirit tear. I can feel it, it's here, uncle." The naivety bounced from his words like spring showers, a hopeful desperation coating his voice.

General Iroh looked down at his imperial boot-claden feet, a heavy sigh pulling itself from his diaphragm. His nephew was not one to be dissuaded, resting knee deep in the ground he dug his heels into. He pulled away, eyes shifting to the side in disappointment, Prince Zuko still had a lot to learn.

He stood behind Zuko calmly, his hands folded neatly in front of his stomach as the boy shifted uncomfortably, guilt itching through Zuko's chest with grimy nails under the watchful gaze of his uncle.

"You can go back now." Zuko said eventually, shattering the perceived calm hanging over the standard issue Fire Nation vessel.

"Of course." General Iroh responded, face downcast as he made his way back to the ship's interior, changing Zuko's mind had always been a challenge.

Iroh hoped that Zuko would find himself in the endless expanse of snow and ice.

* * *

In the flurry of snowflakes falling to the ground, Katara trudged on, letting the snow underneath melt between her footsteps. She shivered as the biting wind cut through her thick winter coat, she had it packed in a pouch of essentials she tied to her back at the beginning of every moon cycle.

She squinted through the tumbling snow to better see her surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar ice structures poking through the thick, blanketing cover. Desperation clawed its way up her throat and pushed at her temple insistently. Her gloved fingers were already soaked and frozen, rushing cold pooling between her palms. In her fevered state, body still recuperating from the transformations, she dragged herself to the very edge of a frozen coast stretching out in an endless curve before she saw the dark ocean lapping near her toes.

The night horizon melted into hues of dark blue that shifted lazily and the star strewn sky reflected off of the deep waters, as if she was standing at the edge of the world and the waves stretching out to greet her feet were the joined hands of Tui and La, the ocean and the moon coming to pull her into their waiting depths. She frowned, breath huffing out of her chest, some small part of her regarded the deities with disdain, twisting with a resentful quip of 'I deserved better than this'.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thought, an apology prayer stumbling out of purple lips.

Her eyes caught on a shadowed distortion in the distance advancing slowly towards the coast and she took a couple small steps forward, struggling to make it out in the darkness. Her wolf senses sharpened her waning vision and she picked out a red flag hanging limply in the calm air, her hands shook when she recognized the smoke spewing ship.

Fire Nation.

Katara had heard the stories since she was a child, of a weak son of Firelord Azulon, with no chance of inheriting the throne. She had heard how he had called to him a dark spirit to bless him with power and glory and strength through the echo of water tribe council voices, how he had offered to it the lives of the Air Nomads, how it had wanted more. She had heard how he had spilt his own wife's blood, let it pool to gather in puddles on the courtroom floor. He had gotten what he wanted, through the genocide of the Air Nation, a murdered wife, a dead Firelord, an exiled older brother after the people ousted him from the throne and an assassinated nephew next in line; he got the throne.

Katara scrambled across the arctic beach, shins dipping into the cold water as each step met with the oncoming tide. The water burned icily, soaking its way through the baggy pants she had taken from her brother. Her mind was dizzy with panic, tilting the ground until she fell into the shallow depths of waves like the night sky, crumpled into the splash of water.

She sat there for a moment, her harsh breaths stained the cold air with a thin mist and the stars overhead pulsed insistently as the fever softened the edges of her vision dangerously. She raised trembling fingers to twist the small blue beads woven into her hair, the smooth markings infused with protection wards. She felt the faint tug of traditional blessings through her frozen fingers and calmed her stumbling thoughts.

Katara lowered her hand to brush softly against her mother's necklace, memories of a smooth voice and soothing lullabies twisting to resound quietly through her thoughts.

She stood up, standing still in the slowly growing waves; as if even the ocean could sense the smoking disturbance and they were mounting their protest. Katara tried to push through the nausea building in her throat as she stepped forward carefully, placing her foot tentatively on the icy shore. She strode along the edge of the bay, slowly building up speed before breaking out of the water and into a fast jog. Her feet slammed roughly into the permafrost ground, she had little control over her muscles in her fevered state. Growing fractures spread with each echoing footfall, twining like greedy roots across the frozen shore.

She knew from her many nights left to recover alone out in the cold that if she followed the shore she'd eventually reach her seaside village. So she ran, the faint memory of a desperate voice rang in her mind and urged her forward, faster.

She wasn't strong enough to protect them then, then she had failed. Never again. Panicked thoughts tumbled through her hazy mind and at that moment she knew, even if it destroyed her, left toughened weeds to wind their way out of her rotting corpse, she would give her life to shout in warning to her people. She would die to protect them from the ship that slowly approached the coastside like a bad omen, sailing over the brewing storm as if it carried smokey storm clouds in its iron hull.


End file.
